


I'll Pour My Soul Into Your Coffee

by songbirds_are_fools



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: AFAB Asra (The Arcana), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And an alcoholic, Angry Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bad Decisions, Bad Flirting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Julian Devorak, Conflicting Feelings, Cunnilingus, F/M, I dont, I hope, I promise this has a plot, Makeup Sex, Masochism, Maybe more than slight, Other, Pegging, Penis In Vagina Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom Asra, Sadism, Service Top Julian Devorak, Slow Burn, Submissive Julian Devorak, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, am i actually gonna tag shit or just write vaguely funny things here, and all my other nonbinary pals :), apprentice is not with any of the main LIs, basically this entire plot is that they both are just, don't let your mother read this folks, drunk julian, haha no he has an intensely high alcohol tolerance, he's a russian-coded pirate, he's high, he/they pronouns for asra, i want her to crush me, im aiming this to be comparable in length to a coffee shop au, like really intense, like theyre better people post-canon but they still bring out the worst in each other, more sexy tags will be added later probably, oh right i forgot these, oh wait this is an asrian fic, probably got swept up by nahara lets b real here, slight asra pov, so strap in ladies n gents, strong muscle lady go brrrrr, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25939834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songbirds_are_fools/pseuds/songbirds_are_fools
Summary: The shop is so quiet without them.Asra has spent too many days by themself. They're done with pining. They're done with the wanting and the waiting for their precious apprentice to return. They'd given up so much of themself to them, irreplaceable parts of their life and their essence, and yet here they are, alone yet again.Is the half of their heart remaining really belonging to them? And does it contain enough love to find someone new?
Relationships: Asra/Julian Devorak
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	1. Salted Caramel

**Author's Note:**

> Never written a fic. Never written a long fic. Never written much of anything, to be completely honest. Hopefully, my ramblings bring a bout of joy, no matter how brief.

They drift awake as the hazy glow of the morning sun washes over them, tinted in red and gold and violet as it filters through the sheer curtains. The assortment of fabrics billow ever so slightly, filling with a sweet-smelling breeze that swirls gently in through the cracked window. Asra slowly pulls themself into a sitting position, multicolored blankets still draped over their half-naked form, and lets out a lazy yawn. 

A scurry of movement can be seen under the mountain of fabric before a small lavender head pops out from underneath it.

"Good morning, Faust." They say with a lazy smile, and she flicks her tongue out in reply before slithering up to coil around their arm, which absentmindedly reaches over to an empty spot on the bed. They freeze for a moment, feeling the absence of warmth in the silken sheets. Faust gives a reassuring squeeze.

"Miss them." She says.

Asra nods silently.

Downstairs, the air in the shop is cold and still. Asra moves about in their usual routine, a mug of aromatic black tea occasionally pressing to their lips as they sort through countless papers and jars. The quiet, though seemingly peaceful, is suffocating. They flit through drawers and shelves, doing their best to ignore it all, but the facts remain; the room is chill-inducing, the air stagnant, the vibrant colors of the decor seemingly dulled. Asra's hair falls over their face as they lean over the counter, eyes closed and face screwed up in a strange intensity.

"Sad?"

They let out a small groan.

"No, no, I'm fine." And as they say it, they know they're not entirely convincing, but the look of clear and utter I-don't-believe-you that comes from Faust is enough to solidify the feeling. 

"How can you even make that face? You're a literal reptile." They mutter to themselves as they flip the sign on the door to 'closed' and head out.

The market street is bustling as usual. The sun sits high in the sky, making the crowd a bundle of heat and sweat. The usual smells are present; pumpkin bread baking, open barrels of salted fish, and the scent of assorted roasting spices all flood their nose as they shuffle along between passerby. Despite all the commotion, the air still feels fresh and good, and Asra's spirits begin to lift. They stop by their usual stalls, gathering various powders and spices. The fresh cinnamon is on sale, the hemlock is ever in abundance, the vanilla beans are overpriced on the spice rack but forever will be cheap if you ask very nicely... Everything seems very normal, and it's easy to get lost in the goodness of the mundane. Asra loses themself for a while in the scents and sights and sounds and it's positively lovely.

"Morning, Asra!" Calls a pudgy woman as they approach her. "Your usual?"

They grin at her. "You know me best, Molly. Make it two. I'm a bit hungry." They rustle through their satchel, rummaging through a pile of loose change in order to find enough coins.

"Where's that little magician friend of yours?" She asks absentmindedly as she pops various goodies in and out of her ovens. 

Asra goes quiet for a few seconds, before simply replying, "Away. Busy." Molly doesn't push.

"Here you are." She places two still-steaming loaves of chocolate fruit bread on the counter in front of her and wraps them in cloth with a flurry of her hands. Coins clatter onto the counter and brief thank-yous are had before they pop the bread into their satchel and keep moving.

Why did they buy two loaves of bread anyways? Even when there were two people to feed, they couldn't eat this much. Now they have to eat two loaves of bread. By themself. 

Those words won't stop ringing in their head now. 'Alone’, they think, 'I'm alone now. I have to go back to what it was like... before. They don't need me anymore.'

Asra continues to walk long past where the market ends, too consumed in thought to think about the time or where their feet trod. The sun begins to sink, the clouds on the horizon become dense. Only when they nearly trip on a cracked cobblestone do they think to look up.

Without even realizing, they've trodden right towards the South End. The streets are dirtier and rougher here, in tune with their inhabitants one could say. The buildings look dilapidated, though not unkempt or rotting. Children run through the street and their cacophony of screaming laughter echoes off the walls of the tall, narrow buildings. Asra meanders down the street, still in a bit of a daze, until they spot an all too familiar sign ahead.

'The Rowdy Raven' it reads.

There is a curious commotion coming from inside, and as they approach, they see a very tall, very drunk man stumble out the door. He's tripping over his own feet and laughing terribly loudly at seemingly nothing,. His behavior becomes more erratic as he attempts and fails repeatedly to lean on a wall for support. He looks familiar somehow. Auburn hair obscures his face and a heavy coat his heaving form, but when the man looks up...

"A-Asraaaa...?" He slurs. They freeze as they both lock eyes.

"Asra! Heeyyyyyy! You wanna... a... you wanna get a drink with me?" He again lets out a deep chuckle at nothing.

They hesitantly approach him. He doesn't seem hostile, but something is definitely wrong. There's no way to get an alcoholic like him this drunk. Someone must have slipped something in his drink. Or has he been eating strange mushrooms again? Has he just gone clinically insane?

"Ilya? Are you alright?" They ask cautiously. The man in question attempts to make a dramatic gesture but almost falls over.

"Never better, my dear! Who would think that the Raven had a back door to the inner streets of Nevivon?" He looks around, eyes sparkling. Is he hallucinating?

Every fiber in their body is screaming at them not to do it, but they can't just leave him here like this. He'll never survive these streets, let alone in the storm that's quick approaching.

"Ilya, do you wanna come take a walk with me?"

"I'd love to!" He exclaims, stumbling towards them. They catch his flailing arm and pull it around their shoulder, holding him steady. "Where are we off to, now?"

"It's a surprise." They manage from under the man's dead weight.

And thus begins the long walk home.


	2. Chocolate Ganache

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school and work like to kick my ass, as usual. enjoy my unbeta'd ramblings. expect more eventually.

The rain starts long before the shop is in sight.

Droplets come down heavy, falling in thick sheets that have the pair soaked in seconds. Asra's magic and the lining of Ilya's coat manages to keep their bag dry, but only barely. The streets are deserted, and as thunder begins to shake the sky, they begin to flood. However, trudging through ankle-deep muddy puddles does nothing to deter the spirits of an intoxicated pirate.

"Oh, the smell of seafoam!" He says with a flourish of his free hand that sprays water all over their already soaked figures. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Asra grunts. "What haven't I told you?"

"That we were going to the... the..." He falters. Asra stays silent.

He continues muttering for a good few seconds before finally finding the words.

"The beach!" He exclaims rather suddenly, and Asra would be lying if they said they hadn't jumped a bit.

"We're almost home," They say, trying their best to play along, "so just keep walking. It's hard to walk through this sand for too long." And indeed, the 'sand' that they drag their feet through grows thicker, sticking to their sandals and every step coming with a bit of a yank and a wet plop.

It's almost an hour of exhausting rambling from the tall man slung across their shoulder and struggling through the muddy streets before the shop is in sight. Asra almost cries with relief as they turn the keys with a loud clunk and step into a dry, safe room.

They let out a relieved sigh. “Home sweet ho-”

"AAAAAAAH!" Screams the pirate. He backs up and accidentally rams his shoulder into the doorway.

"What's wrong?" Asra replies in panic. "Are you okay?"

"The tide pulled out so suddenly! Quick, we have to run!" And before they can object, they're being yanked up the stairs by the arm.

"Woah, woah, slow down!" They pull back on their arm, but it doesn't deter the strength of the lanky doctor. "There is no tsunami, you idiot!"

"That's because you can't see it yet!" He argues, "Hurry or we'll die!"

Asra groans and lets themself be dragged up the flight of stairs, legs much too tired from the walk home to fight the strength of his pull.

At the top of the stairs, Ilya spins around, bewildered.

"Asra? Why is your bedroom right inside your front door?"

The magician in question just stands there, slightly stunned. There’s really not much they can tell him at this point.

The doctor begins to dart around, flipping over cushions as if he's looking for something. Faust squeaks and darts for the safety of Asra's jacket. They close their eyes and focus, and with a swipe of their hand, the moisture is pulled from their clothing. Their hair springs back into its normal gravity-defying fluff and they run a hand through it, face screwed up in annoyance.

"Ilya, what on earth are you looking for?"

"A key!" He exclaims, "How will we get in without one?"

"We're already inside."

The man's frantic movement falters before he lets out a simple "oh."

Asra sighs. “Come let me dry you off.”

Despite his intoxication, he scrambles to his feet and runs obediently toward them, like an excited puppy. With another swish of their hand, they’ve wicked the wetness of the rain from his clothes and hair. He smiles gratefully. Asra looks at him strangely.

“Come here. It’s been a long day, so I’m going to put you to bed, alright?” They say, hoping to sound gentle and not exhausted and annoyed. They walk across the room, the doctor on their heels, and push aside the mounds of blankets on the bed to make a spot for him. He lays down without a word, laying straight as a board with his feet hanging off the end of a bed he is much too tall for.

“Take your boots off, at least.”

“Oh, right, right… sorry.”

He sits up, pulling a leg up, and his hands hover over the buckles on his boots unsurely. Asra can see the gears grinding in his mind.

“Do you need help?”

“Uh,” He splutters, “I, uh…”

Asra sighs and kneels down to undo the buckles themself, which make a nice clack as they come undone. They help to yank off the long leather sleeves vacuumed to his calves, and soon there Ilya Devorak sits, on their bed, probably high on shrooms and definitely baring his yellow and many-holed socks.

“Thank you.” He manages. Asra only nods.

“Get some damn sleep.” They say, and without skipping a beat, the man lays back and closes his eyes.

‘Sheesh.’ Is all they can think.

The cast iron tub is painted a chipping ivory, reddened in places where the water has wetted the metal and rust has begun to lick up the sides of it. As it starts to fill, Asra mindlessly flits about the small wooden shelves lining the cramped bathroom, throwing random bits of flora and flicks of multicolored salts into the warming bathwater. When it finally seems to their satisfaction, they drop the last of their robes and sink into the tempered haven of rose petals and jasmine and calm.

No matter how powerful someone’s magic, one can ever truly rid themself of the chill that comes from rain without resorting to more concrete methods, and the bathwater feels absolutely heavenly upon their skin, taming their goosebumps and making their shriveled, damp fingers and toes feel hearty and saturated with the warmth of life once more. They sink deeper into the water, eyes closed, and let the shiver of heat that runs up their spine soothe them into a trance. 

However, the pleasure of a hot bath cannot distract them from the multitude of problems at hand.

They had brought home a very intoxicated man who they don’t have a great relationship with in the first place. What do they do when he wakes up? What if he’s still completely out of it? What then? And even if he awakens sober, what do they say? Their eyebrows knit together in frustration, but they can’t think of a solution. They’re drawing an exhausted blank.

Suddenly the bath feels too warm and the salts too aromatic and the water too wet. The flames of their candles shine too brightly and the faint heat they give off is nauseating, burning the skin on their face. They rise out of the water, feeling it trickling down their back and chest, and surge out of the tub. They towel themself off frantically, ignoring the unpleasant feeling of the terry cloth running up and down their skin, and pad hurriedly out of the bathroom while still yanking on their robe. As they exit, they hear the sound of someone retching and heaving. At first, they think it might be themself, as a spell of nausea has started to thicken deep within their stomach, but it gets louder as they approach the kitchen and they see the redheaded doctor’s tall form hunched over their kitchen sink, heaving and trembling as he empties the contents of his stomach into the basin below.

“Ilya?” They call out concernedly. The man jumps, startled. He turns slightly toward them in surprise, still in a coughing fit and immediately returns to the sink. They approach cautiously, stride like that of a stalking feline. When it seems the man has finally stopped coughing, he turns to Asra, wiping at his mouth with his sleeve.

“I, ahem… sorry.” He begins. After a pause of silence, he continues. “I didn’t know where else to, uh… y’know. I think someone slipped something into my drink. Something weird. I still feel kinda dizzy.” And, as if on cue, he stumbles back into the counter a bit.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Asra asks carefully.

“Well, to be honest, it’s all quite vague, but I do remember drinking at the bar, and then walking somewhere with you. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in your bed and running to throw up in your sink.” He blushes sheepishly, hand ringing around the back of his neck. “I assume you took me home when you saw me being a complete disaster of sorts. Thank you for that.” And Asra only nods silently. When there seems no more words to say, Ilya turns back to the ruined sink. His face goes bright red.

“I’ll, uh, clean this up and get out of here.”

And as he begins to wash out the bowl of the sink, Asra regards him silently. The doctor he knew was a roguish man infallible to the tricks of the common barman. The pirate he knew was dashing and capable of wooing a crowd with a swipe of his tongue into words and the swish of an invisible scabbard into the guts of an imaginary enemy. But the man currently standing there, washing out their sink, seemed subdued somehow. He did not have his wits about him. He seemed paler than usual, his form a bit atrophied in the shadow of the one laced into the web of Asra’s memory. As the pale moonlight shone through the kitchen window, they could see the outline of his sickly form under his baggy, translucent shirt. Despite all the alcohol he took in, it seems as if the man had lost a significant amount of weight. Thinking back, his cheeks had also hollowed, the worry lines on his forehead becoming more significant, and his lips were thin and chapped.

As he finished washing the sink, he turned back to see Asra staring blankly at him. He again flushed deeper, tilting his head down in shame.

“I’ll go get my boots.”

“Actually,” Asra starts before they can stop themself, “Actually, if you’d like, you could stay the rest of the night. It would make me a bad host to kick you out now.”

“Oh, no need. You’ve already done so much for me, I needn’t trouble-”

“Ilya. Stay.” They say suddenly, cold and stern.

“I… alright.” He stops in his tracks, looking at Asra with slight shock, slight reverence, and slight fear. Asra calls him hither with a finger, and he strides over unsurely but obediently, tripping on his own feet a bit.

“I bought too much food. Eat.” They say simply as they take the loaves of bread out of their satchel and unwrap them. They’re surprisingly still dry, and a bit of magic from Asra’s hands turns them warm again. They saw into one loaf with a sharp bread knife, slicing off a thick hunk and looking up at the tall man next to them expectantly. He tentatively reaches down and takes the slice, biting into it gently, chewing and swallowing dryly.

“This is good. Thank you.” He manages.

Asra cuts themself a piece and they both make their way over to a small wooden table, sitting and eating silently. They look at each other with differing unreadable expressions. Asra’s is blank. Ilya’s is a mix of a dozen different emotions, blended up and poured to fill his features like multicolored plaster.

Asra finishes their bread first. 

“Would you like some tea?” They ask, slowly rising from their chair and walking toward the stove.

“Oh, uh, no thank you.” Ilya replies. “More of a coffee drinker myself.”

“Alright. Well, you should get some rest.” They say, looking over their shoulder and watching him pop the last bite into his mouth. “You look like you need it.” And they turn away with a small smirk on their face, knowing that he went bright red at the remark.

“Alright.” He says, standing up and pushing his chair in. He looks around unsurely.

“Take the bed.” Asra suggests casually. “You already made a spot there.”

“Really, I can sleep on the sofa, it’s alright-”

_“Take the bed, Ilya.”_ They say icily. The man nods silently and goes to take his spot on the mattress, laying on his side, faced away from Asra.

“Goodnight then.” He says softly, hopefully, but he receives no reply but the sound of water swirling around the edges of the tea kettle.


End file.
